


For Your Eyes Only

by ohmytheon



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 5 Times, Drunk!Hawkeye, F/M, Royai - Freeform, Young Royai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:55:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, Five times Roy Mustang was caught staring at Riza Hawkeye; and one time Riza was caught staring at Roy. (Scenes range from the time when they were teenagers to pre/during/post-FMAB.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Eyes Only

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as just Riza getting caught staring at Roy and him gloating about it. The actual scene in my head that started this never got written, as it was changed. Then something took over and this happened. This is the OTP to end all my other OTPs. I didn't even want to write this fanfic - and then I had to. It interrupted a different Royai fic that I was writing.

I.

He is sixteen and doesn’t know any better. Bone-tired from two days of straight studying, he feels like he hasn’t accomplished a damn thing. Master Hawkeye is a brilliant alchemist, as Roy has learned over the past few years, but his teaching methods are out there and ability to tell time is shoddy at best. The only reason he’s able to tell how long they’ve been practicing and reading and taking notes and getting the occasional shoe thrown at him is because of Riza and her impeccable timing when it comes to food.

“Ah, you’re a godsend,” Roy practically moans when Riza walks into the study with a tray of food, steaming tomato soup, half a ham and cheese sandwich, and a cup of apple juice.

A slight tinge of pink crosses her cheeks, but she says nothing as she sets the tray down in front of him. He tosses the book to the side and begins to scarf down the food. In the past two days, the only times he’s been allowed a break have been to eat and use the restroom.

Normally, Riza would excuse herself and go do…whatever it is that she does. Her father haunts the house. She does everything else. If it wasn’t for the fact that his teacher will sometimes sleep for a whole day every now and then, Roy would swear that the Hawkeye family possessed the ability to forgo sleep. This time, however, she walks to the other side of the room, picks out a book, and curls up in the chair by the fireplace to read.

At first, Roy is so focused on the food that he doesn’t realize she’s still there. When he’s finished though, he feels her continued presence and glances back at her. She’s just sitting there, legs tucked underneath her body, the tips of her sock-covered toes poking out. There’s a concentrated look painted on her face as she reads book about rifles, of all things. He shrugs his shoulders to himself, picks the alchemy book back up, and starts reading again.

That lasts all of three minutes before he’s glancing at her again. He shakes his head and looks back at the book. A minute later, he’s back to looking at her. He pops his neck in aggravation, places the book squarely in his face, and gets five sentences in before he starts reading the same sentence over and over again.

This time, when Roy looks back at Riza, he doesn’t look away. They’ve had their fair share of moments together, more than what her father would probably approve of. Riza is quiet and unassuming. Her confidence is not loud and her personality is not extravagant, not like what he’s used to growing up with at Madame Christmas’ place. She wouldn’t be labeled beautiful either, but she’s only fifteen. She’s got plenty of time to grow into her looks that already show signs of prettiness that she so desperately tries to hide with plain clothes and a shorter haircut.

But there’s something remarkably steadfast in her demeanor, something that continuously draws him in. She’s a curious thing, someone he learned right from the start that he’d have to unravel if he wanted to get to know her. In the beginning, he went out of his way out of his own loneliness, but then it developed into something else… Interest, perhaps, and a dash of intrigue. The past year has been filled with her more, and it’s hard for him to imagine a world where he didn’t know Riza Hawkeye.

“You’re staring,” she suddenly announces, not looking up from her book.

Roy chokes a little and jerks back to look at the book. His face flushes slightly at having been caught. If there’s one thing he’s learned in these past few years, it is that Riza is all subtlety while he certainly is not. He’ll have to learn that from her one day.

He’s so focused on not looking at her and staring at the book that he doesn’t catch her biting her lip and blushing a little.

II.

She’s the first person he seeks out at the funeral.

 _I should have been there for her more,_ he thinks irritably. He was there when her father died. The old man passed away right before his eyes. Roy hadn’t known what to do. He’d been so shaken up by his old master’s words and his death that he’d just retrieved Riza and then left in a daze.

Now that the funeral is beginning, he can’t help but think of how selfish he was in that moment. He left Riza in the cold when he went to join the military and did it again when after her father died. There were always people leaving her.

He’s nearly late to the funeral. He’s hurrying down, trying to fix his tie and failing miserably. Roy has learned to always be impeccably dressed, but he was flustered and moody all morning. Luckily, no one seems to notice the late addition and he’s able to pretend that he’s right on time. The funeral proceeds and puts him in a somber and dazed mood. His eyes glaze over the pastor, then the closed casket, on the few people, and then finally onto Riza.

For a moment, his breath nearly stops. This is not the Riza that he remembers. He barely caught a glimpse of her the night her father died. Now here she is, all dressed up for the first time that he can ever remember, and wearing the most stoic expression of everyone in the crowd. He watches her, slightly transfixed at how she’s able to look so collected while attending a ceremony that is basically the pastor saying, “Congratulations, welcome to the orphan club,” (a thought that Roy is all too familiar with). She’s wearing a simple black skirt and blazer over a light colored shirt. She looks, well, lovely, considering the occasion.

And then Riza turns and fixes her gaze on him, as if having felt his gawking eyes. Roy tilts his head down so that his military hat can shade his eyes and hide himself from her. He shouldn’t have forgotten her ability to figure out when someone was looking at her. Staring at a girl at her father’s funeral… How much more of an idiot could he be?

III.

It’s damn near impossible not to stare at her while standing in the unforgiving red sun of Ishval.

Snipers were the reason many people were alive. He remembered thinking of Riza and all those books on guns she read and how she tried teaching him how to shoot. The only thing he remembered of her lessons was how to aim. And then it turned out that she was one of the snipers and she’d saved his ass countless of times and…

It was a lot to process in this heat.

And so he watches her pass through the camp, hiding inside her white cloak like it was a tent. So much of her has vanished since coming to Ishval, but mostly everything in her has hardened. Her gaze is sharp as ever, her hands steady as can be, her face carved of stone. She doesn’t blink a lot like everyone else does here and she most certainly does not squint. She is forward as ever, strong as the sun. And then she’ll falter for a second, and he’ll catch the despair in her eyes.

 _I thought we were supposed to save people, protect them,_ her downcast eyes seemed to say.

Those eyes hurt him more than he likes. He’ll watch people like Kimblee taunt her. Admittedly there aren’t many women out here and definitely no female snipers. It takes a certain kind of person to become a sniper. Roy has to admit that while the damage he and other alchemists commit are great atrocities, it’s not personal. He feels almost detached from his alchemy, something he both hates and is secretly grateful for. Snipers don’t have that luxury. Every shot, every kill, is personal. She will remember the faces of the blood that she carries on her hands.

He watches her intently, trying to discern whenever things are too much for her. If Kimblee steps out of line too much, he’ll go to help her – but not before she puts the man in his place.

“I can handle myself, you know,” she says before he can turn and pretend that he didn’t see what was going on. “You don’t have to watch me. I’m not a child anymore.”

No, she isn’t, and he isn’t. Long gone are the days at the Hawkeye estate where they would sometimes sneak off to the creek and swim in the cool water, when Roy would transmute something in an attempt to impress her, when Riza would bake an array of cookies for his birthday. There is none of that here – no water, no fun transmutations, no cookies. There is just dessert, fire and death, and baking in the sun.

“I can’t help myself,” Roy admits. “It feels like I’m doing a favor for your father by watching over you.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Riza says as she picks up her sniper rifle, “that’s my job.”

IV.

Years later, and they are working together in the military. She’s sitting at her desk on the left, doing her work dutifully; and he’s sitting at his desk in the back, not doing a damn thing. Mostly, he’s just doodling, so he can pretend that he’s working.

The last thirty minutes of being on the clock includes no work for him. He knows that she knows he does this, but neither one of them say anything. Havoc is already yawning and casting glances out the window; Breda is pretending to read papers and is instead reading a book he’s stashed covertly; Falman is conspicuously doing a crossword puzzle; and Fuery is listening to his favorite public radio station using headphones.

The only one that ever does work until it’s time to leave is Riza.

It’s in those thirty minutes that Roy spends a lot of time looking at his subordinate. She looks pretty good in the blue military uniform, though it hides most of her figure and she absolutely refuses to wear a skirt. _It’s not practical,_ she always says or something to that effect. He’s seen her in skirts before and is pretty sure of its effectiveness on men. (In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing that she doesn’t wear a skirt to work, if she wants any work to get done.) Her hair is longer now, put up in a clip, but he can just imagine what she looks like with her soft, blonde hair down, flowing in the wind, just there to run his fingers through.

It’s at that exact moment when Roy realizes where his thoughts are going and when Riza realizes that someone is staring at her.

Riza looks up at him questioningly. “Sir?”

Everyone in the office turns to him.

Roy looks at the men, then at Riza, and finally the clock. “Ah, would you look at that? Time to leave.”

It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that Roy ran out of the office.

V.

Riza doesn’t “go out with the boys” very often, but when she does, it’s the most glorious thing in Roy’s opinion. Hell, in everyone’s opinion. Everyone sees her as a stick in the mud, always nagging him, getting onto his case about work, scaring the shit out of people every now and then with her guns… But Roy has always known that she’s had a clever sense of humor and is a shockingly warm person.

And so tonight is another occasion when Havoc and Breda are able to convince her to come out with them. Roy never tries. (He knows that if he asked, she would most certainly come, showing all sorts of hesitance still, but he’s not sure if he wants to think about things like that.) It’s Fuery’s birthday, and they are, in Havoc’s words, “getting that boy blitzed out of his mind.” Normally Riza wouldn’t approve of things like that, but it’s a Friday night and they’ve all had a long week and it’s just what they need to get their minds back in the game. They need an eraser night.

They meet up at one of the local bars (not Madame Christmas’, but hey, they don’t want to scare the kid on his birthday) that is near Roy’s place. He likes it because he can get free drinks half the time. The boys are all there, starting in on Fuery early, by the time that Riza arrives.

Despite the fact that most people consider Roy Mustang to be an extreme womanizer, he really doesn’t gawk at women like they’re some sort of prize. With a bit of liquid courage in him already, it’s really difficult for him to not gape stupidly at his subordinate.

“Your skirt,” Roy says accusingly when she walks up to him, “is shorter than I have ever seen. How come you wear this to Fuery’s birthday party and not mine?”

“Because I can already imagine what birthday wishes you might come up with if I did,” Riza responds dryly. She’s not entirely wrong there – or rather, she’s not wrong at all. He grins at her and she rolls her eyes, but it’s all playful and light.

The boys roll back with more drinks, actually goading Riza Hawkeye into taking a shot with them. And then another and another and another. He ends up buying all her drinks and it’s not even her birthday. Luckily for everyone else, Fuery is the lightweight to end all lightweights. Havoc falls in love with the bartender, but accidentally spills his sixth beer on her much to his horror and everyone else’s delight. In a surprising twist, the bartender gives her number to Falman, who looks both startled and pleased.

They end up crammed in a booth in the back where Breda beats all of them at every drinking card game the group can come up with. Roy is pressed against Riza, and it’s in that drunken haze that he realizes that this is the closest they’ve been since they were teenagers. He can smell her sweet perfume mixed with the cigar smoke the guys are smoking and gunpowder that is inherently all her. She’s always so rigid, but her body is soft and warm. When he goes to scratch his knee under the table, he accidentally brushes against the bare skin of her thigh where her skirt has raised and both of them end up blushing like schoolgirls. Thank god for shady bar light.

“It’s getting very hot,” Riza suddenly announces, and he wants to agree with her and also disagree, knowing that this is her cue to get up.

“Let’s go dance!” Havoc cheerfully announces.

Breda scowls. Falman turns a delightful shade of purple. Fuery raises a finger, mumbles something, and stumbles out to the dance floor where he dances like he’s taken some sort of wild hallucinogen. Havoc soon follows him and proves to be an equally bad dancer. Still, it somehow attracts at least two girls.

“Care to show them how to dance and not look like a flailing antelope?” Riza says.

Roy scoffs. “And make myself look bad by association? I’m good, thanks.”

Riza merely shrugs her shoulders, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, and then meanders out onto the dance floor where, lo and behold, she actually dances. _Riza Hawkeye is dancing._ Well, it’s more like melodically swaying to the music, her hair falling out of its carefully kept array and brushing her shoulders, her clothes for once showing that she does indeed have curves, but that’s enough to make the three men sitting at the both gawk like prepubescent boys. Breda actually misses his mouth and spills his beer in his lap.

When she casts a glance over at him, she laughs and gives them the smuggest smile he has ever seen on her face before. It would be infuriating if Roy wasn’t drunk and absolutely entranced. He has to stop drinking right now because if he gets black out drunk and doesn’t remember this moment, he will forever regret it. He wants to commit this moment to memory because he’s almost certain it’ll never happen again.

It is while Roy openly stares at her that he tells himself that he can never let Riza get drunk again because it seems like she suddenly understands the power that she can have over him by simply moving and giving him a single look. That is too much power for one person to have.

I.

Of course it happens when she looks like hell. Not that Riza Hawkeye is the type of person that constantly cares about what she looks like – and not that there’s anything bad about that either – but no one enjoys getting spotted when they look like they’ve been hit by a truck.

It’s after a bad day at work when Riza goes home to Black Hayate. After letting him out and feeding him, she changes into some exercising clothes and goes for a hard run. On days like this one, she likes to run so hard that her muscles strain and her mind screams for her bed and it’s all she can do to force herself to eat dinner before crashing. That way she can clear her mind of work and actually sleep.

It’s around nine p.m. and she’s about three-fourths of the way through the run, blonde hair pressed against her forehead and sticking up wildly, cheeks worked up into a hot pink flush, chest rising and falling like crazy, sweat covering her entire body. She stops to give Hayate some water and so she can replenish herself as well. She’s just standing in front of a fancy restaurant, its fancy occupants not paying any mind to the gross and ridiculous looking woman out front, when she catches a glimpse out of the corner of her eyes.

It’s just a glimpse of a coat really, and she’s not exactly sure how she knows it’s him, except that she does. When she turns her head around to look more carefully, she sees Roy sitting at the bar, wearing a fancy three-piece suit and placing the black coat on the chair. He’s got his hair slicked back and he’s wearing plain white gloves. The grin on his face is equally part of the outfit. It’s his trademark, in fact. He looks…painfully handsome. When he sits down at the bar, after ordering a drink, he leans over to the woman in a pretty green dress next to him and kisses her on the cheek.

Riza looks away quickly. All of a sudden she feels like an intruder, like she shouldn’t be here. This isn’t her part of town. It’s too much…too much of everything. State Alchemists make an absurd salary while lieutenants in the military just don’t. This isn’t her place. She doesn’t belong. And she shouldn’t be intruding on the colonel’s private moment. When she glances back at him and catches him laughing with the woman, Riza can’t help but feel like she’s spying on her boss’ date.

“Ugh,” is the only thing she can manage. She shakes her head, wipes her face, and looks back down at her dog. “You ready, boy? I think I’ve seen enough.”

“Ah, but the question is, did you see what you like?” a voice rings from behind her.

Riza jerks around and there’s Roy, leaning in the doorway and smirking at her wolfishly. “Sir,” she manages in a very uncharacteristic squeak. He barks out a laugh and pushes off the door, walking towards her. She feels incredibly self-conscious, something that she hasn’t felt in years, but even more so, she feels very self-aware – very much aware of what she looks like (a complete disaster) and what he looks (the epitome of sharp). This is not how she wanted to spend her night.

“I can see it now,” Roy sighs cheekily, “you gawking at me through the window, getting all hot and bothered. It’s not the run that’s got you blushing, now is it?”

She can’t help it; all she can manage to do is glower at him. “I wasn’t gawking at you.”

“I’m a person with feelings, you know,” he says, placing a mock-offended hand on his chest. “You can’t just stare at me like I’m a piece of meat.”

“I’m fairly certain you enjoy that, Sir,” Riza tells him.

To his credit, Roy nods his head. “You’re right about that – except that it’s even more delicious when I turn around and see that it’s my precious lieutenant doing the staring. Makes me wonder how much you stare at me in the office. We all know how good I look in my uniform.”

“You’re the one that does most of the inappropriate and lengthy staring,” she points out. Roy has the decency to look at least slightly sheepish. Neither of them ever talk about the fact that she’s caught him looking at her very intently on what seems like a million occasions. Sometimes he’ll duck his eyes and other times he’ll waggle his eyebrows at her. She’s always torn between irritation and being flustered. However, now is certainly not the time to bring this up, not when there’s a beautiful woman inside glaring at her like she’s the devil reincarnated. “You should get back to your date, Sir. She looks a bit malcontented with you being out here and not being in there.”

Roy flashes the woman a charming smile and a wave, which seems to melt her almost immediately. When he looks back at Riza, all the pomp is gone and it’s just Roy. He rarely ever gets to be that way with her anymore, not now that they’re working so closely together. She misses it, but tries not to say anything about it. “She’s no Elizabeth,” he finally says, startling Riza a bit. “I’d rather have her staring at me any time. Goodnight, lieutenant.”

“Goodnight, colonel.”

When Roy walks back inside, Riza forces herself to walk away from the restaurant and not glance back at him – she doesn’t want to catch him looking back at her, which she knows he is most certainly doing. They walk slowly for a bit and Hayate lets out a light bark, tilting his head up at her. She looks down at the dog. “Don’t.” Somehow or another, Hayate seems to understand and she can almost see him shrug his shoulders at her.

Riza runs back home and it’s the fastest and hardest she has ever run in her life.


End file.
